Moon
A yearning for fulfillment. Unforeseen perils; threatening situations, possibly to loved ones. Psychic forces.
I was walking back to school again. Again. Ugh! I could hear the cars screeching past me, some black, others red… all loud and annoying. The side walk was cracked in places, gray and hard. Cold. Birds were sitting on the telephone wires, singing to each other like they do. Just a basic day I guess. I’ll never remember how many houses I pass, how many people’s faces I’ve seen, but I will always remember what the word tired really means. I had enough on my mind, paying for my house I lived in alone since my family died… one by one by one… feeding myself and my animals… chickens, rabbits, a horse… and also passing school… math, English, science… and then the bet… why me?
I guess that’s why I always noticed the things around me so much. Sounds, sights, everything I guess. I’ve been paranoid for years. That’s when I heard a scornful laugh. It startled me… then I realized it was coming from my mouth. I bit down on my lip. Maybe I should introduce myself, if anyone ever reads this I think you should know some things about me.
My name is Angelene Zalmon which basically means messenger of darkness, nice huh? My family and I used to live in a pretty nice house. We were never rich, but we were happy. It’s funny; I almost forgot the meaning of that word. I was the youngest out of 3 children, all girls. Their names don’t matter anymore, I barely remember them now. My mother and father were happily married; I had her light blonde hair, and his clear blue eyes. That’s where the similarities end. I never counted myself as beautiful, but I’m skinny enough to be okay looking. Clear skin, even features, like I said not gorgeous, but not ugly either. Unlike all my family though I always liked baggy clothes, wearing jeans tee-shirts and sweatshirts all the time I guess nobody would know if I was fat or skinny. It doesn’t matter to me what they think. I’m 15, 16 in 6 months, and I’ve never had a boy friend. I haven’t had even a friend in years.
Five years ago everything started. We had been in the car, my parents and sisters, and I had been singing like always. I’ll always remember the song. A moment like this by Kelly Clarkson, I used to hope that would be the song I got my first kiss to. I had just sung the last line “some people wait a lifetime… for a moment… like this”. I’ll always remember it. The screech, the jolt, the blood and screams. The numbness.
When the sirens brought me back to comprehension I was outside of the car, standing in the rain. I wasn’t crying, just shaking. Somehow I had gotten out of the car; the rest of my family was being carried away on stretchers, covered by sheets. I knew they were dead already. I didn’t say good-bye. Then a tall man came over, he was dark skinned, bony and frail looking, face stern. It was night time; I could see the stars now. My head hurt, my mind was jumbled, and so are my memories of that night.
The man told me what had happened. The rain had made the roads slick, the other car’s breaks didn’t work, and they hit us. I was the only survivor. Why? I looked at the wreckage, twisted metal, and smoke. Then I saw him. He was medium height, average build, around 18 probably. His short hair and glistening eyes looked dark in the dim light, but even from where I was standing that cold evening I could tell he was gorgeous beyond humanly possible. Maybe I should have known he wasn’t human then, but I was oblivious to what this universe could contain.
At that point I saw him smile, I felt my heart try and break through my ribs, I didn’t know then I had a concussion, which many doctors said was the cause of my collapse. I told them all about this boy, but of course no one believed me, no one else had seen him. He was my secret after that.
I lived with relatives for 3 years, always in my old house; they said it would help me cope. First my aunt, then my grandmother, then an older cousin… they all died soon after moving in, each time I saw that boy only yards away from where they died. At first I thought it was his fault. After my other aunt died I confronted him, I was 13 then. Maybe if I hadn’t…
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